


No one ever wanted to stay

by Captain_Mercurian



Series: So what do I do with this? [6]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence is happy though, M/M, Newt is lonely, Newt isn't good with people, Newt's kitchen is unexpectedly mundane, his magical smile makes up for it though, those awkward dorks don't know what to do now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:08:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Mercurian/pseuds/Captain_Mercurian
Summary: It was like a knee-jerk reaction when he stood up and reached for his belt but then Mr. Scamander turned around and he was-Laughing.It was an odd breathy thing and then there was a grunt and something about that made Credence's brain shut itself down completely.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Спасти Ньюта Скамандера](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10380225) by [Greenmusik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenmusik/pseuds/Greenmusik)



_Newt Scamander_.

 

Back home, Credence had spent entire days wondering what his name might be but he couldn't remember even one of all those possibilities that had once crossed his mind. No other name would have made sense now anyway. There was something about the sound of ' _Newt Scamander_ ' that just felt so incredibly perfect, so very fitting to this colorful being right in front of him.

The stranger – No, he wasn't a stranger anymore – Newt Scamander, _Mr. Scamander_ , was still reaching out for him, waiting for Credence to take his hand.

He didn't know exactly how long they had been standing there like that, though, it was definitely long enough to make him feel very awkward once he finally managed to reach for the offered hand. Long, warm fingers touched him with the gentlest of pressure and Credence felt his legs turning once again into a pile of butter as he subconsciously leaned forward, his hand trembling against the other's palm. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew, acknowledged even, that he shouldn't feel that way about Mr. Scamander. His touch shouldn't make his heartbeat fasten, shouldn't make his skin feel all tingly and warm. He didn't want to think about it though, didn't want to ponder and ruin this wonderful moment that had already lasted entirely too long.

“Credence,” he heard himself say, even though he didn't remember opening his mouth. “Credence Barebone.”

Mr. Scamander smiled, eyes twitching nervously as if he, too, didn't really know how to go on from here. Not even Credence's daydreams had ever gone any further than that, and even though he had once believed that his name was all he needed to hear to feel perfectly happy and ready to let go, he felt himself wanting _more_. Admittedly, he didn't really know what 'more' was but still. A soft cough made Credence flinch and that was when he noticed that Mr. Scamander stood completely still, waiting for him to let go of his hand. A part of him didn't want to but he knew that he had to if he didn't want to make the man any more uncomfortable than he already was. His fingers felt cold and stiff as he forced himself to peel them off the warm, rough skin and he immediately clenched them into a fist as if trying to hold on to the lingering tingle.

“So, er,” Mr. Scamander started, his voice just a tad too loud and a little strained. “I bet you're hungry, so, why don't we go and fetch something to eat? I could use a cup of tea, too, it was an eventful day, after all – Lots of running, lots of fighting and, ah... Well, your body needs a little pepping up after all those healing spells.”

 _Healing spells_. Until this very second, he hadn't even noticed but now it was impossible _not_ to notice – His wounds were closed. They hadn't disappeared entirely since Credence still felt a dull ache with every breath he took but it did seem like the open gashes had turned into very manageable bruises.

Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Scamander walked off into the forest, cradling the Niffler in his arms and not looking back once. Credence hesitated for a second, now very much aware of the fact that he was still in pajamas and barefooted as well, but decided to follow him anyway. The grass felt soft under his feet, though he winced at the random branch or stone he didn't manage to avoid. It was a strange feeling, really, but he found he kind of liked it. He liked the feeling of damp grass on his skin, and he liked the smell of the forest. Credence hadn't ever been to a forest in his entire life, had only ever read about them in books – Books he had acquiered secretly since mother thought any book that wasn't the Bible to be the devil's instrument, written to tempt even the most faithful to stray from God's path. They planted “unholy ideas” inside people's heads and glorified the worst of sins; seduction disguised as intellectuality.

“I don't have any meat down here,” Mr. Scamander said as they approached something like an open kitchen in the midst of the forest, protected by nothing but a wooden ceiling and a single wall, ”To be quite honest, I don't eat any meat in general; it's no biggie, I hope?”

At that, he turned to look at Credence and it took him a moment to realize that he was supposed to answer. He nodded at first, then, realizing his mistake, he was quick to shake his head and just to make sure he stuttered: “I- I d-don't mind.”

A brief smile was his reward and he felt his heart flutter just a tiny bit as they stepped into the little kitchen.

“Feel free to take a seat, I'll just tuck the little one in.”

Nodding, he approached the small wooden table, that was barely made for two, and noticed that there was just the one chair. It was such a small detail but it hit Credence hard and he turned to look at the witcher disappearing behind a tree. If this was Mr. Scamander's home, (It seemed like it was and didn't witches always live in forests according to the books?) he must be very lonely.

So very lonely.

Hesitantly, he took a seat and found himself already worrying about Mr. Scamander not having a chair for himself to sit down on. Pondering whether or not he should stand up and let the man have a seat himself, he noticed the gas stove on the single wall in front of him. Something about it, probably it's unexpected banality, surprised him a lot and he blinked, not quite believing his eyes. There was also a sink and a small kitchen cabinet, as well as some dirty dishes lying in a pile next to the sink.

It all looked so very ordinary. So very... human.

When Mr. Scamander returned, he was already half-way through washing the dishes, sleeves rolled up and concentration written on his face. A surprised laugh made Credence flinch, almost letting go of the mug he was holding. Slowly, he turned to the witcher.

“You, ah, didn't need to do that. It would have been quicker to-” He paused. “Kappa's breath, I already forgot, I am sorry. That you don't like magic much, I mean.” Credence opened his mouth, ready to finally explain that _no, it wasn't_ \- “May I help you?”

His planned explanation got stuck in his throat as Mr. Scamander stepped right next to him, grabbing the kitchen towel and gently taking the wet mug out of his hands. Credence stood there, frozen on the spot, and stared at the man's profile as he dried the mug with a content look on his face. The sun illuminated him, revealing the true length of his lashes, letting his reddish locks appear like a wild bonfire and making the stark white shirt of his glow like an angel's robe.

He forgot how to breath again.

“I'll cook a vegetable soup if you're up for it,” Mr. Scamander suddenly said, turning to look at him. Their eyes met for a second and Credence flinched, averting his gaze immediately and deciding that there were enough clean dishes for now. With a curt nod, he went to sit back down on the lonely chair, hoping that his cheeks didn't look as red as they currently felt; shame heating up his entire face and neck.

If Mr. Scamander saw, he didn't comment on it. Vegetables were washed and cut by hand and if Credence's legs didn't feel all wobbly, he would offer his help. (Besides, he knew next to nothing about cooking since Ma never let anyone into the kitchen, let alone him.)

As he watched Mr. Scamander throwing the vegetables into a pot, he couldn't help to comment: “You don't cook in a cauldron.”

The witcher paused. Then there was the slightest tremble in his shoulder and Credence was already starting to panic – What if he upset him? Had he been rude?

It was like a knee-jerk reaction when he stood up and reached for his belt but then Mr. Scamander turned around and he was-

 

 _Laughing_.

 

It was an odd breathy thing and then there was a _grunt_ and something about that made Credence's brain shut itself down completely. Somehow, he regretted to have sat back down and he wondered if there were those wrinkles again when the man coughed, clearly trying to pull himself back together. It was a pity that he managed it so quickly.

“Terribly sorry,” he chuckled, still all breathy but the grunting was gone completely, and turned his back on him. “I shouldn't have laughed, after all, some of us actually do still use cauldrons in the kitchen. It's just, ah, from all the questions I expected to hear from you, this was definitely the most... mundane one.”

Credence's face heat up again and he sputtered something but decided that it was better to just let it go before he embarrassed himself any further. The man's opinion of him was already low enough, he didn't need to make it worse than it already was. So he remained silent and simply sat there with his hands trapped between his knees as he watched Mr. Scamander throwing the remaining vegetable pieces into the pot, followed by something that must have been herbs and salt. At least, it looked like salt.

He hadn't realized that he had started to cry until a tear dropped unto his trembling hand. Confused, he was quick to wipe the tears away and wondered what made him cry in the first place. There was no reason for tears, after all, there was no pain or fear or sorrow plaguing him – He felt happier than he had ever felt in his entire life, sitting here in pajamas and watching this colorful, gentle man, _Mr. Scamander_ , cook vegetable soup for him. (Credence didn't realize that one could cry tears of joy, too.)

Then, he noticed that his entire body was trembling, even though he felt perfectly warm and his chest felt like bursting open any second, even though he didn't feel the darkness calling out for him. It was most confusing, if not alarming, but he tried not to let the witcher know of his inner turmoil as he poured soup into two clean bowls and grabbed two spoons before approaching Credence.

“I am not the best cook, mind you,” he chuckled as he handed him the bowl and the spoon. Credence was about to stand up and offer him the seat he had so greedily taken when Mr. Scamander pulled his wand out of his waistband again and pointed it at a near-by tree stump. He paused. “Er, do you-”

“I don't mind,” Credence reassured him as he realized the man was about to ask his permission for doing magic again because he still hadn't explained that he was a witcher himself. Mr. Scamander shot him a smile (which was quite magical by itself) and then swiped his wand through the air, pointing at the stump. There were no strange words mumbled this time when a red light shot out and Credence gasped as the stump grew and bent until there was a wooden chair standing there in its place. Mr. Scamander hummed approvingly, trapping the wand between his teeth and went to retrieve the chair. However, it didn't move when he tugged at it.  
“By Merlin's lacy undergar-,” Mr. Scamander muttered, though it was muffled due to the wand that was still in his mouth, as he still tugged at the chair. “Excuse my foul mouth, it's just... I was never good at that spell. Something always goes wrong.”

Interested, Credence was about to ask what exactly had went wrong and how magic could go wrong anyways, when the chair legs broke and Mr. Scamander stumbled backwards, nearly falling over. His cheeks were tinted red as he found his footing and turned to Credence with embarrassment written across his face.

“I, ah, forgot to, erm,” he muttered as he approached the table again, putting the chair on the floor. “to un-root the stump.”

Oh.

He finally took the wand out of his mouth and did another flick. Just like that, the chair repaired itself and Mr. Scamander could finally take a seat.

“I must make quite an impression,” he chuckled, the self-depreciation evident in his voice as he refused to meet his eyes again. Somehow, that made his chest ache in a way he had never experienced before.

“I think you're impressive,” he mumbled, clutching the spoon so hard his knuckles were turning white. Mr. Scamander's gaze shot up and Credence almost flinched at the sudden eye contact, blushing all the way down his neck. “......S-sir.” he quickly added and then decided the soup was a far more interesting thing to look at. Silence settled between them as neither knew what to say and they both simply started to eat their soup. It tasted delicious, though, he didn't know whether that was thanks to Mr. Scamander's cooking skills or the fact that Credence hadn't eaten a thing for over a day now. Even so, mother always cooked blandly, not using anything to enhance the taste – not even salt – since good religious people should live as humble as possible, refusing even the luxury of a somewhat nice meal.

For a while there was nothing but the sound of the spoons cluttering against the bowls and the random slurp until Mr. Scamander spoke up again.

“Listen, Credence,” he said and something about the way he said it, made him tense in alarm. “We need to talk about what happens next.”

Next. Of course. That was an important thing to talk about and Credence knew it but he was also afraid of what he was going to hear. Most of the time, he avoided to think about 'next', about what the future might bring. He was afraid of 'next'.

“I wouldn't feel comfortable letting you go without some kind of plan for what you will do next.”

Oh. Oh, no. No, _no_ , _**no**_ \- Mr. Scamander wanted him to leave his enchanted forest. Of course, he wanted him to leave this beautiful place. He didn't deserve to be here anyway. Stupid _stupid_ _ **stupid**_ -

Mr. Scamander was still rambling on and he had to force himself to listen, even though every word felt like he was being stabbed in the chest: “...need a place to live in, some kind of occupation. Though, maybe we should consider for you to leave New York completely, I don't like the thought of her being anywhere near you, so maybe-”

He paused.

Credence didn't look up, instead, he continued to stare at the bowl he was clutching with stiff hands. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to look at the witcher with the freckles and the warm eyes without bursting into tears at this horrible, crushing feeling of loss washing over him. He should have expected this but he hadn't and that was his own fault.

“Credence,” the man said with this wonderfully gentle voice but Credence simply shook his head. “I am sorry. I didn't want to upset you. I just... I thought you might want to leave as quickly as possible.”  
“I don't want to leave.”

The words were out before Credence even realized he had opened his mouth and then he was standing up and all but throwing himself at Mr. Scamanders feet. At that, the witcher recoiled, almost falling from his chair as Credence bowed his head, hands clasped as if in prayer.

“Please,” he begged as he knelt before him, desperation evident in his voice and his trembling limbs. “Please, don't make me leave! I- I'll do anything you want, Sir, just please... please, don't send me away...”

There was a long moment of silence before the witcher eventually stood up, pushed the chair away and knelt before him. Warm, tanned, freckled hands enveloped Credence's trembling ones and he could feel the man's gaze trying to catch his own but he couldn't bring himself to look up. His body felt completely frozen in place.

“I am not sending you away,” Mr. Scamander whispered, stroking his skin with his thumbs soothingly. “Credence, I am not sending you away. I just... I didn't think you would want to stay.”

A pause. “No one ever wanted to stay.”

He thought of the one chair on the table. Thought of how lonely it looked. Thought of ' _I am not good with people_ ' and, slowly, he dared to raise his head.

 

“ _I_ want to stay.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all had a Merry Christmas!
> 
> Also, I wanted to note that I started writing on a new Crewt-Story (No worries, though, I won't forget about this series anytime soon!) and I would love for you guys to check it out <3  
> Here's the link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8975332/chapters/20520868
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy it!


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